Dangerous Notions
by Nathalie Andrews
Summary: The angels have new orders. Sam makes some serious errors, and must be be dealt with! Dean has placed himself in the crossfire, but is Castiel willing to let go? Warning:Slash:Dean/Castiel. The sequel is out; "Inner Turmoil: the ethics of Cacoethes" though it is unfinished as of yet. Will be continued some time this summer/fall -2012-
1. On a dangerous path

Disclaimer: I own neither characters, story or anything else. This is purely for pleasure, and there is no profit in it.

**...**

**Ultimatums**

"Oh, come on! Sam!"

Dean looked angrily at his brother. "Cut the BS, will ya?"

They were standing in a clearing under heavy pine trees, the tension thick in the air around them. One of the possessed men that had just attacked was lying in the wet snow, reduced to a lifeless corpse.

"Look, Cass seemed pretty damned serious to me. If you don't stop your demon mojo, then they WILL stop you." Dean had an almost pleading look on his face now. If they had one thing in common, it was none of them worked well with authorities. At least, not just any authority. For a fleet second, a picture of his father appeared in the back of his mind. The image slipped away before he even noticed it. This was a serious situation, and Dean felt pushed up against a wall. Sam had lied to him, and now he wanted to keep secrets, messing around with demon-sluts behind his back.

"I had no choice. Just let it go, Dean. I'm tired." Sam turned around, and walked hurriedly away from him. The branches above him shivered in the gust of cold wind.

Dean turned angrily towards the corpse, and realized that they were not alone anymore. Instead of one angel, there were two, both facing him from the other side of the abandoned body between them. The angels stood there silently, eyes following Sam's departure. Dean noticed the nasty glare on the dark skinned angel's face, half hidden behind the shadows of a deep frown. Unmasked loathing steamed towards him from the dark brown eyes. Dean shot him an angry glare, and turned to Castiel. He seemed tired, but there was a serious hint of trouble in the blue eyes. Castiel shook his head, and came a few steps closer to him. "You remember Uriel?"

"Yeah. The specialist?" Snorted Dean, raising an eyebrow. "I forgot to ask, specialist on what? Bikini waxing? King Pin movies?" He paused. "No, wait, oh, I got it! A _Seventh heaven_ meets _Groped by an Angel_ - script writer." He rolled his eyes. "Probably why you're so grumpy! I'd be a mean son of a bitch too, if I had spent half a lifetime writing cheesy _God loves you_ scenes…"

Uriel took a step forward, and smiled shrewdly at Dean.

"God loves you? I don't know about that. How He can even stand a mud monkey like you, is beyond my comprehension."

Dean raised his eyebrows, and pressed his lips together.

"Ill bet there's a whole lot around here which is beyond your comprehension!

"That's enough." Castiel walked in between them. "Dean, I gave you a warning. Why has the boy not taken heed to my message?"

Dean shrugged, and threw a nervous look over his shoulder.

"What the hell was I supposed to do, hu? Tell him; No, Sam, we have got to let the evil demon-bastards kill us, cause Cass told me using powers is a no, no?!"

"You should have done what you were told, boy…" Uriel's voice was low and dangerous.

"Bite me, chuckles. This wasn't the time to pull a Gandhi, Cass. He got it, but we didn't have a choice." His anger was fading, replaced by fatigue and frustration. "If this was a seal, then we failed. I don't know what else to tell you."

Castiel sighed, and slightly cocked his head. Intense energy radiated from the Prussian-blue eyes, but his expression showed no emotions. It was like looking into a burning mask.

"We have been given the commandment, Dean. This is your last warning." He paused. "Find him, and stop him. Now."

Despite of the harsh words, Dean heard something that sounded like a plea in the dark voice. Why was he pleading? It was his and Sam's head on the chopping block. Cold anger returned from the depths of darkness inside of him. He walked a few steps forward, until their faces were merely inches apart, and spoke in a low growl;

"You listen to me, you son of a bitch. I will stop him, but you don't get to touch him. In fact, you don't get to touch anyone. Go save your precious seals, and Ill handle my little brother."

Uriel made a sharp clicking noise with his tongue, and every muscle in his body stiffened as he began to move forward. Castiel raised the palm of his right hand towards him, and he stopped - a look of pure rage in his face.

"Be careful boy. Give me one excuse, any excuse, and I will tear you and your mongrel brother apart!"

"Uriel." There was an edge to the word. Their faces were so close, that Castiel could hear the pulse drumming wildly from the side of Dean's throat. There was a shade of darkness in his eyes, which could only be seen, if one were looking directly into the hazel depths. Castiel could feel both his pain and fear. Realizing this, Dean broke off and turned away from him.

"Your last chance, Dean." The words sounded hollow, and almost pitiful.

… … …


	2. Fair warnings

**Fair Warnings**

Dean slammed the motel-door shut behind him, and hurried down to the car. Ruby was sitting in the front seat, wearing a smug smirk on her face, which was half hidden behind her small hand. There was a certain spark in the nougat-brown eyes, and she looked pointedly away when he met her stare. Sam tried to close the car-door, but Dean grabbed the top edge of it, keeping the door from shutting properly. It had the wanted effect, but his fingers felt more than broken.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"You are not going anywhere." Dean felt more tired than angry, and the fact that Sam was ready to just take off, despite what he had told him, was unbelievable. He saw the hurting expression in Sam's face, but at that point, he didn't care.

"I have to be somewhere else, Dean, but I'm not going out there hunting."

Dean sighed, and turned partly away from Sam.

"The demons will know where you go."

"The demons are not the problem at this point, Dean, and you know it. Stop acting like I am some sort of a disobedient child. I'm more than your kid-brother. I am a hunter, and a stronger one than you have been in a long time. You were dead, remember? No, right, you don't! But I took care of myself, for months without you. Look, we have a plan."

"You have a plan?"

This was more than unbelievable. He raised his eyebrows, and gave Sam a look of utter disbelief. "Angels are out to kill you, and you have a plan? What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?? We can't just pull a Balboa on this one, or make some mojo amulets… You are gonna get yourself killed! Are you even…"

Before he could finish, Sam pulled the door shut, and locked it from the inside. They disappeared in a cloud of dust, leaving Dean there with an expression of anger and desperation on his face.

"Sam, you son of a bitch!!" He frowned, and added silently; "Sorry…"

... … …

Dead Moe's cabin had a dusty atmosphere, and was sparsely furnished. Floor and walls was made out of dark wood, and the black bedspread felt warm and soft underneath him. The fact that Ruby and Sam had rented a cabin with a king-sized bed was something Dean tried very hard to ignore. At least they hadn't had the time to actually be in it. The circumstances considered that wasn't much of a relief. If Sam didn't get his head back together, they would have a serious problem. It was Ruby. She had been filling his head with pure crapstickles for a long time. Forget a potential serious problem, they were already in deep shit. Lillith`s demon-buddies were out to get him, the angels were out to get Sam, and if those seals didn't soon stop breaking, the human race would literally have one hell of a time, all pun intended.

"Spiffy…" Dean said to himself. And the worst part of it, he didn't feel like he had the strength or ability to do anything about it. Even the hunting seemed different. Like if he was missing something. Something inside. It was something he had almost gotten used to by now. There was an unanswered question hanging in the dark inside him. Did he really care about the world going to hell that the world was going to hell. If it did, he could hardly stop it.

He closed his eyes, and just lay there, listening to the sound of his own heartbeats. Even though he was tired as hell, he didn't dare to fall asleep. Images of blood and flesh kept haunting him. Sometimes he wondered what was worse, the screaming or the eyes.

Someone was in the room with him.

Dean threw himself off the bed without even thinking. The moss-green shirt stuck to his chest, moist from his own sweat.

Castiel stood there, watching him silently. His eyes wore the look of someone tarnished and beaten.

"I'm sorry Dean." His voice was low and deep.

Dean felt the fear run down his spine, like if an electric charge went through him the second he heard the words coming from the angel's lips. He swallowed and closed in on Castiel, who blinked before raising his head, meeting Dean's glare.

"What the friggin`virgin Mary are you talking about? What have you done to Sam…?"

"Dean…" Castiel sighed.

"No, you tell me, right now, what have you done to him? If you have hurt Sam… I don't care where you send me, I'm gonna kick your ass…"

Dean meant every word of it. If Sam was gone, then he didn't give a darned about the world. He had fought so hard to save all those people, their family had been ruined, and now these… these angels were to take everything away from him? They might as well have left him in hell to rot. That would probably have been the better ending for everyone.

With a slight frown, Castiel leaned almost indifferently forward.

Dean froze, and his muscles tightened. The bare tip of a finger touched the soft skin on his forehead, just above his slightly raised eyebrow. For a moment, he felt nothing. Then his body failed on him, and he found himself kneeling on the floor. Not taken out completely, just a little incapacitated. Convenient. That freakin` bastard.

Castiel swallowed and bent down towards him, half-kneeling on the wooden floor. He saw the confusion and the fear on Dean's face, raw and unmasked in his current state.

"Dean… Sam is alive." He hesitated. "But I don't know for how long."

"What… are you talking about?" Dean asked, his voice breaking down as he spoke. Castiel looked away, and for a short second there was something new in his eyes. Sorrow, maybe?

"Your brother has, in a way, declared war on us, Dean."

Dean's forehead creased, his nostrils widening.

"You gotta be kidding me…? Agh…" His head felt like if it was floating. Whatever Castiel had done to him, it sure seemed to work like well-oiled wheels. The whole room was sort of spinning around him.

"How could Sam start a war with you? Did he pull down Chuckles` pants or something? Burn a bible, use the F word…"

"Dean…" Castiel said. His voice had lowered even further.

"What, your God don't mind the F word? Did he call Chuckles a fugly asshole, with no sense of humor and even less morals? Cause that's the bloody truth."

Dean closed his eyes, and felt himself swaying forwards. His forehead was suddenly resting on Castiel's shoulder, and as he realized it, he desperately tried to raise it from him. He gave up, and rested there, thinking how utterly un-normal their lives really was. It wasn't really that unbelievable, after all, that it had all led to this. Sam on a crusade against heaven, and Dean himself lying here, incapacitated, on an angels shoulder.

"He has found means to hinder us. The other angels see this as an act of war. I did not desire this, Dean. I do not wish to hurt Sam."

"Go to hell…" Dean mumbled softly. The warmth of his skin against him, and the smell, which should have been awful, made him feel both soothed and warm. It felt wrong in a way, but he was too tired to even think about it. Why bother?

Castiel placed a hand on the side of Dean's face, and lifted his head to level his own. A foggy veil went across the green eyes in front of him, only barely open, the thick dark lashes curving from the eyelid.

"You have to act, before it is too late."

Dean smiled weakly, but it was a cold smile.

"I can't fight angels, and I sure to hell can't fight my own brother. What do you want from me, Cass?"

"Sometimes, I find myself uncertain." Castiel almost whispered, looking both innocent, and at the same time; deeply confused.

"What?" Dean frowned as deeply as he could muster.

Castiel swallowed.

"Enough of it." He let go of Dean, and rose from him.

Dean was beginning to feel clearer. Strength was returning to his muscles, and the body felt more like his own.

As the angel left the room, a small note lay on the bedspread. It contained an address, and a number. The number belonged to Bobby. The address was unknown.


	3. With vision impaired

With Vision Impaired

He had to steal a car.

The idea of his baby on a wild kamikaze-mission, with that knucklehead, made him wanna shoot something. What the hell was Sam thinking?

Un-freakin`believable. Bobby would have called him an idjit. Dean wasn't sure what he wanted to call him. He gripped tightly around the steering-wheel, and kept his eyes on the road.

… … …

Rays of morning light came from the small windows. Sam noticed how a trickle of sweat was sliding softly down her blouse. His mind began tracing each line of her body, the body he knew so well by now. Each detail. Then he scorned himself soundlessly, for wasting time with perversities, when they had the key to protecting themselves from the angels' right there in front of them. The book was old. Really old. Pages yellow, oddly discolored, and the writing… He wouldn't even try to read it, but left the translation to Ruby. He dared not ask her how she had gotten her hands on that thing. Oddly enough, it actually looked a bit like an old journal of some sort.

"Uhm, Ruby? Are you sure this stuff actually works…?"

She looked up from the book, and gave him a blank stare.

"You don't wanna know what I had to do, to get my paws on this thing."

Sam turned around, feeling the nagging bites of cold anxiety. Something slid around his waist. He saw the small hands on his stomach, and felt her cradling him from behind.

"Don't be afraid, Sammy. I'll keep you safe. You and Dean."

… … …

It was still light outside, when Dean came into the driveway. Something was in the air. Brewing, starving, and he could feel it. Hell, he could actually feel it.

Ignoring the fear in his stomach, focused on the task at hand, Dean went for the door. It opened easily. No locks. The room was warm, despite of the cold outside. A candle burned on what looked like a homemade gun-repairing table. Heavy blue curtains hung, drawn to each side of the small windows.

"Sam?" Dean said, loudly, uncertain.

Ruby came out of what looked like a bedroom, dressed in a red morning gown. "Look, Sam, it's your very impatient older brother. How about we just stop the "Saving our asses" ritual, and do a pajamas-party instead. How about it, Dean?"

"You wish, bitch."

"Dean…" Sam followed Ruby, shirtless. Red symbols were painted in blood on his chest.

Dean snorted, raising an eyebrow in the process.

"Awesome! Blood. Ancient symbols that kinda look like a nude shapeshifter... Could you possibly be more gross, Sam? That's so unoriginal; it's a crime against witchcraft."

"Funny. Your puns don't usually contain so many difficult words." Sam seemed angry now. "Look, I don't see you doing anything to improve our situation. Why don't you go back to the cabin and angst yourself into sleep? I have had it with your constant whining. I am strong enough to end this, as soon as I get those angels off my back."

"Those angels are supposed to be helping us, Sammy." Dean didn't know if he himself actually believed it, but they had to be.

"Helping us? You said it yourself, we can't trust them. They wanna kill me! We have done it, Dean. The angels cannot touch me. Everything we need is right here."

"They wouldn't have threatened you, if you hadn't kept messing with stuff you were supposed to stay far away from. You promised me, Sammy! You swore. What do you think dad would have said, huh? You think he'd be proud?" The second he had said the words, he realized he regretted them. He could practically feel how Sam fell even further from his reach.

"Just get out." His expression had turned cold. He was so filled with anger, that he ignored the look on Dean's face. Ignored the sinking feeling in the stomach when Dean turned around, and left the room.

… … …

He tried calling Bobby, but the older hunter didn't pick up his phone. It was unlike him, and Dean was worried. He had decided to take the two-hour drive to check up on him. Losing Bobby was the last thing they needed now.

The last rays of sunlight were creeping down below the horizon. Darkness was spreading, and the forest on each side of the road went gloomier by the minute. Suddenly, his eyelids almost slid shut. He jumped in his seat startled, and blinked several times to feel more awake. The black trees flew past on each side. The road was going grey with a hint of mist. Someone appeared next to him. Dean didn't notice. He had fallen asleep.

… … …

"How did you get here?!" Bobby couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Dean was sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen table, clutching a half-empty beer-bottle in his hand. He felt well-rested, but confused as hell.

"I drove here in my sleep. How about another beer? Or a shot of something that can keep a car running?"

"Oh, I'll give you a shot, alright. And Ill do it in broad daylight if I have to. Where the hell is Sam…?"

"We had a fight, so now I am not sure. He could be dead, and I am sitting here drinking Haagen Daz. Where did you get this crap? "

Bobby's eyes narrowed.

"You left him?"

"What was I supposed to do? He refused to come, threw me out, saying he had everything under control. He is off his rocker…"

Bobby was just about to say something, when he stopped dead in his tracks, and stared fixatedly across the room. Dean rose from the chair, and spun around.

Castiel was standing in the doorway. He ignored Bobby's stare, and turned to Dean.

"Slept well?"

"What are you talking about?"

Dean caught the shine of the blue eyes gazing into his own, reflecting the bright light from the kitchen window. He was feeling something, but it kept slipping away from him when he tried to focus on it. Of some strange reason, his heart kept pounding. The angel was making him feel uncomfortable these days. He swallowed, hoping Cass would neither notice, nor come closer.

Castiel raised his head, and his lips parted hesitantly;

"If you want to save him, you have to do something now."

He looked away.

"I'll be waiting."

The last word sounded more like a growl, than anything else.

It felt like a touch. Dean breathed heavily. What was the angel doing to him? Was he lying about Sam?


	4. Truth or dare?

Truth or dare?

Sam felt the sharp metal cut into his skin, the chains being too tight for his wrists and arms. Nausea was building up in the back of his throat, and waves of pain hammered against the insides of his skull. His upper lip was bloody and swollen; a red drop could be traced all the way down to the grey cement-floor underneath him. He tried to look up, but the only thing he saw was the corpse of Ruby… No, the corpse of the girl, who used to be someone else entirely. She was dead. They were all dead. His nostrils went wide, and the frustration, more than the pain, made him cry out. How could they do this to him? He was trying to save them, and they did this?

"What is wrong with you, Dean…?" Sam sneered to the silence outside, knowing that his brother could hear him.

Castiel watched Dean stand by the door, his face half hidden in the shadows. Watched him take a deep breath, and swallow, as he fought the tears that had overwhelmed him. His eyes were so brilliantly green, contrasting with the red edges around them. A single transparent drop fell from his chin. And Castiel realized that he found the man in front of him, beautiful. He could taste his emotions; almost touch the soul behind the layers of flesh. What if Sam did not forgive Dean? What if Dean could not forgive him?

Rats scurried in the corners. Someone had relieved themselves on the far wall. The room smelled vaguely of urine. They had found them in an old warehouse, but it truly had been too late. Destroyed vessels lay everywhere inside the dark building. Ruby was dead, and Sam had been beaten beyond recognition. Castiel was worried. He seemed to be either insane, or processed, though they could not sense a demon inside of him. In fact, they couldn't feel much inside of him at all.

Uriel entered the room. The towering figure was filled to the edges with undiluted wrath, and there was black fire burning in the dark eyes. Castiel felt his shoulders sink.

"Where is he? Oh, I am gonna enjoy plucking the flesh from his monkey bones. Feel him squirm in my hands, like a snake…" He hissed the first letter of the last word, and threw a nasty glare towards Dean, who now sat with bent knees, without touching the floor, and his back against the metal wall. He sneered, and turned towards Castiel.

"Where is the demon bitch?"

Castiel cleared his throat. "She was killed during the battle."

"What battle? He destroyed a few vessels, before you stopped him." Uriel sounded even angrier now. "Those rituals would have worked, if the demon whore had not been weakened. Next time, coincidences might not be on our side."

"There is no reason to kill him. Without the blood, the demon inside of him will starve. The boy could regain full control."

Uriel made a disbelieving sound.

"Could? You are a fool, Castiel."

Dean had gotten to his feet, watching the heated conversation some feet away from him. The last line from Castiel made him feel cold inside. He was trying to use logic against Uriel. It wouldn't work; the other angel was far too angry, and hungry for revenge.

Uriel drew a silver bladed-knife from the sleeve of his coat. Panic grabbed a hold of Dean, and he held his breath trying to find a way out for them. Castiel turned towards him, as Uriel made his way into the other room.

"No…" Said Dean, choking on the word, the taste of blood filling his mouth.

"I won't let you do this!"

Dean moved without thinking, almost running towards the door. Something yanked him to an abrupt stop, and he felt the air being pressed forcefully out of his lunges. A strong arm was placed firmly around his chest. He tried to tear it off, but another one gripped his left arm. The scent of vanilla. He was fighting for his brother's life, yet somehow he noticed the vague scent of vanilla.

"Dean, be calm." Castiel's voice was but a mere whisper against his ear.

"Control yourself."

"You be calm, you friggin` fairy!" Dean threw an elbow backwards, and it made contact with firm flesh, but the hold on him did not loosen. He tossed, and threw himself around. Then he felt the familiar feeling of his own limbs dying into a state of apathy. Sliding down on the floor, the only thing he felt was the arms holding him, cradling him like a child. Tears ran from his eyes, blurring his vision, concealing the world in a mist of fear and hopelessness.

He couldn't move, couldn't fight. At first he thought he heard screaming from the room. Then he only heard Castiel, whispering something vague, holding his writs, gently. He felt heavy, and tired, and at that moment, all he really wanted was to sleep. Disappear. Not feel the pain, or the fear, ever again. He felt safe, and warm. Like he was losing himself; losing himself to someone that had just betrayed him. The panic resurfaced.

"Let me go… Please- "

Dean didn't know what else to do. Everything else had failed him. Without Sam, there would be nothing else to fight for.

"Please, Cass… Please, let me go…"

He would have to let go of everything, and he couldn't. Wouldn't.

Not a life alone. Not a life like that. Not lose Sam, when they had made it through so much.

And Castiel let go.

Dean felt the strength slowly return to his feet. Felt his mind go clear.

_Sam._

He stumbled into the room, falling apart just inside of the doorway. Uriel had already left. And Sam. He wasn't dead. Deep cuts went across the burnt-in symbols on his chest, but he wasn't dead.

"I thought you didn't bother." Sam mumbled. Blood and spit were dripping from his chin. "I thought you'd let me go."

"I'm your brother, Sammy." Dean tried to get back up on his feet, but he found himself to be so heavy.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam was crying as well, now.

Castiel was watching them from the darkness outside of the door.

How could he go back, to that cold place, when he had seen this? How could he keep fighting, knowing that Dean might never look at him again with those eyes? Those deep hazel eyes, mirroring the depths of soul within.

How could they go back to just fighting?

… … …

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala. It was an unusual place to sit, but he had found no other place where he could rest his mind. Things felt different. Normally, it would scare the hell out of him, but… Something was very different. Sam had slept when he left, and Bobby was taking care of him. The hunger, and the mood swings would pass in time, but the withdrawal could still kill him.

"Feeling better?"

Dean turned his head slightly, and saw Castiel sitting next to him.

"Not thanks to you." The old phrase slipped out, so easily.

"He never walked into that room, with the purpose of killing your brother, Dean. If you had calmed down, you might have heard what I was trying to tell you."

Dean did not reply. He kept his gaze directed at a bird, flying low above the field on the other side of the road. It wasn't fair. If he could have at least hated him. Or felt the slightest bit of anger. Sammy. They had gone after Sammy.

But he couldn't.

He turned towards the angel.

"You are a bitch, you know that."

Castiel frowned, his eyes just slightly narrowed.

Dean continued;

"My brother could have died, and you're still on your high horse."

"This is a car, Dean, and it isn't mine."

Dean shook his head, and tried to prevent the smile that tried to force its way through his mask.

"Wow. Cracking jokes. Guess there really is hope in hell, huh?"

"Dean…" Castiel had the same hint of a plea in his voice. The name sounded so soft, so important, when it came from him. It didn't make sense.

He turned his head, again. Smelling the scent of vanilla, seeing pure emotion in the look he was given. Dean swallowed. He felt it stir deep inside him. Rolled him, like some sort of a siren. Only, he knew the blame was his own. He was allowing himself to feel.

Feel something real.

Dean leaned in towards him.

He didn't know what he would do when it came down to it, but then again; a Winchester never does.


	5. At the end of a kiss

**At the end of a kiss**

"It has become clear for me."

Castiel gave him a quick sidelong glance. "These emotions, I mean."

"Hell, Cass."

The color of Dean's face had turned to the shade of highroad snow. "No chick-flick moments! Not now. This is weird enough already…"

Castiel opened his mouth, obviously wanting to ask him something, but seemed to think better of it. He traced the line of Dean's hairline, feeling the sensation of the soft skin against the tip of his finger. He had to restrain himself, from not using the power on Dean. How easy it would be…

Dean turned knowingly away from him, almost like if he had read his mind.

"Are you afraid of me, Dean?"

The question was asked in a serious manner, and when Dean looked at him, he saw the same old intrigued expression. The slightly squinting of dark blue eyes, piercing deeply into his, and the pink lips barely parted.

"Oh, yeah, I am shivering…"Dean answered dryly. He tried to add a little laugh, but choked on the harsh sound that surfaced.

"Just don't tell Sam about this. Or anyone else."

"I understand." Castiel sounded empty, though there was no trace of hurt in his hollow voice. They sat there, in silence, for several minutes, before Dean again looked at him. The wavy black hair, cut unevenly on the top of his head, made him look somewhat rugged. The fullness of his soft lips made them look more kissable, than any female pair he had ever planted his mouth on.

Dean sighed. It all just felt so wrong. If there was ever a time for fairy-messin` it certainly wasn't in the middle of a friggin` appending apocalypse. Castiel was a handsome devil, but he was still a man, and the last time Dean checked, he didn't swing that way.

"And they say going through hell only builds character." Dean muttered the words, silently. Castiel shot him a weird look; a hint of emotion lay bare and raw, underneath the blank expression on his marble face. It wasn't before he disappeared, that Dean realized it had been pain.

And it wasn't before hours later, that he really felt the ache.

… … …

The dusk was settling in on the horizon. Painted in bright orange, heaven was heavily contrasted by the ebony trees in the black forest-line.

"How are ya holding up, junkie?" Dean tried to keep the tone of his voice light and cheery. It was difficult seeing his brother, pale as a corpse, bathing in his own sweat and puke. "Eww, you need a bath, dude! They can probably smell you all the way to Bejing."

"Stuff it, asshole. Stuff it deep." Sam's voice sounded neither light, nor cheery. In fact, the sneer was almost on the level of the bitch-angel Uriel himself.

"Hey, Bobby!" Dean peeked into kitchen.

"Whaaat?! More beer? You guys are drinking me outta the house…" Bobby pretended to be angry, as he threw a Budweiser towards him.

"No, I mean, sure, thanks, but... No!"

"Will you get to the point, boy?"

"Is he…? You know... _Bound and broken_?" Dean tried not to sound nervous.

"He's fine. Just a little cranky, but so the hell would you have been, if you had spent the last 24 hours puking your own intestines out."

Noticing the sudden nerve-struck expression on Dean's face, Bobby softened.

"That was just metaphorically speaking, kid."

Dean took a deep breath, and turned around.

"Yeah, in most places…" He left the kitchen, as Bobby sank grudgingly down on a chair. How much wouldn't he have given for those boys? Just to be able to behave like a jackass every now and then, without seeing the fear from old memories flicker deeply in their eyes. They were so haunted, the both of them. And that big battle against the ultimate big bad was yet to be fought.

"Most places, my hairy ass…"

… … …

Castiel sat quietly on the white bench, with his hands in his lap, palms facing heaven, in an abandoned garden. Fragile crystals of white snow were melting on his black shoes, and he could feel the icy wind against the skin. He could actually feel it, truly. It was a wonder, one he had never experienced before.

Breathing. Feeling. Being. .

Pain and pleasure seemed to be so deeply connected.

Human beings walked like statues around on two legs, never realizing what wonders they really were. How they even survived the unlimited range of emotion, a range he had not gotten more than a small taste of, was an unfathomable mystery, a striking enigma.

"Philosophical as always, Castiel."

He turned his head just a notch to his left. Uriel entered the garden from under the willow trees.

"What do you want?" His voice was cold.

"Is that a decent way of greeting your old friend?" Uriel smirked at him at first, but then his expression went sour.

"Or are you still dealing with the pain of emotions, after I cut the brother of your little human protégé?"

Castiel blinked, and corrected his attention towards the little pond in front of them.

"Brother, you need to get your head out of the mud." He sat down next to him. "That human is making you confused. We don't want that. You cannot possibly prefer such an existence?"

"What I prefer, is none of you business, _brother_." Castiel rose from the bench. Uriel took a deep breath, thunder flashing across his face.

"If you think that you can just…"

"That's enough!" The sharp edge in his voice cut forth a silence between them.

"You forget yourself, Uriel. You may not be under me anymore, but I am still not below you."

"Oh, I think you are the one forgetting something. I might have enough respect left for you, but the others? If the boy survives, and shows his face out there, then they will remember what he did. You have only prolonged this, Castiel."

He met Uriel's eyes, defiantly, and after just a few seconds the other angel broke away from the intense cold glare. They turned their back against each other, and disappeared.

The garden was once again abandoned, and left as prey for the silence.

… … …

Dean was having a nightmare. When he woke up, he felt himself shivering and trembling, drenched in his own cold sweat. He gasped for air, and wiped the moist out of his sore eyes. Every fiber in his body crawled up to the pumping tumor in his chest. He felt like he was bleeding to death from the darkness inside. It took him several minutes just to get out of bed. He tried to flick a switch, in order to turn on the lights in the bathroom, only to discover the lights were not working. He stumbled towards the sink, and shuddered when the cold water poured down upon his skin. It was too dark to see his reflection in the mirror, which was bonus. He washed his face with the same cold water, scrubbing the terror off him. Then he pulled his shirt off, left the bathroom, and sat down on the bed with another shirt.

It was black and tattered, with faded golden letters spelling "That's Mr. Bitch to you!" God, he loved that shirt.

He had pulled it halfway over his head, when a familiar scent suddenly found its way to his nose. He froze for half a second. Then he roughly pulled it on, and looked around the room. There was no one there. He suddenly realized how disappointed he was, and swore under his breath. This was fucked all the way to hell. He shuddered. It was possible he was exaggerating.

His fingers touched automatically near the dry edges of his own lips. He tasted them quickly, feeling a small stab of shame as he closed his eyes. Vanilla. It was on his fingers, on his mouth, and even in his nose. He practically breathed it, just like he did when he had embraced that first kiss between them. The first and only time they had kissed. He opened his eyes, and stared out into the empty nothingness that filled the space around him.

In a way, it felt like if the embrace had never ceased, not until that very moment, when he sat there on the bed, feeling the smell of vanilla fade from his lips.


	6. Esoteric Obfuscations

Esoteric Obfuscations

… … …

Green bottles, that had remained unopened, were standing near the now occupied doorway. A shadow lay still on the bleak carpet floor.

Bobby felt a certain degree of fear rise within him.

"I think you should go. Why can't you bitches just leave him alone?"

Castiel moved slowly, and walked almost past him. They were standing side against side, facing the opposite direction of each other. He blinked once, before glancing sideways at Bobby.

"It would be unwise to let Sam see me, his present state considered. Bring me Dean."

Bobby coughed.

"I'd rather stuff a drunken teddy-bear up my arse."

Castiel took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

"I need Dean out here, and I need him now."

"What?" Bobby glared at him with narrow eyes.

"Another seal."

… … …

"Don't touch me…" Sam was growling, blood poured from a cut above his lip, and deep wrinkles of pain stretched across his moist forehead. Dean tried to wipe it off with a dry rag, and had a look of determined worry on his face. "Geez, you're acting like a baby, you know that?" He raised his arm, and blocked the weak swing of a fist. Sam fell back down in the couch, and swore. "I should be dead. We should both be dead." He mumbled the words, keeping his eyes tightly closed.

"That's the demon juice talking." Dean threw away the rag, and placed his hands on his knees.

"No, its not." Sam shook his head over and over again. "It's not."

"Just shut up and rest, Sammy. It's gonna take a few days more, you getting better. Cause Bobby says so."

"They are staring at me, Dean. They stand over me and stare when I sleep. I can't…"

Dean clamped the chains back on Sam's wrists, to prevent any serious injury from another seizure. He looked up, and saw Bobby standing over them.

"I'll take care of him. You are needed in the kitchen."

Dean felt something tighten in his stomach region. He looked at Sam one last time, and went towards the kitchen-door.

Feeling how his heart was pounding audibly in his chest, he suddenly felt slow, almost clumsy. He didn't meet the blue gaze that searched his face, but focused all his attention towards the beer on the kitchen-table. His lips fell apart, trying to find some words to say. They couldn't get past the dry lump, which had effectively shut off his throat. He felt like running as far away from the man as geographically possible.

"We have a slight problem." Castiel turned away from him. "I need you to do something for me."

The vaguely suggesting sentence was just about begging for a suitable pun or sarcastic remark, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't imply what he really wanted. He froze, and tried to shake the thoughts out of his head.

"Are you listening?"

No soul had ever accused Dean of being socially apt, but even he could hear the unusual cold tone, as the angel turned back towards him.

"Yeah… Uhm… sorry…" There was such an emphasis on the last word, that they both heard the double meaning behind it. Their eyes met, and Dean, looking both hurting and confused, struggled not to pull a reverse.

"We… We have to go." Castiel took a few steps forward, and lifted his hand up towards Dean, who stood very still. The second he touched him, the world flickered, and in the next they were standing in the middle of what appeared to be a graveyard.

Dean halfway cocked his head, and smiled weakly.

"I always wanted to be a winter-bride, cause white makes me look chubby!" His humorous attempt was awarded with a swift hesitant, but oddly soft look. Castiel had always appeared to be as unreadable as a fogged up mirror, but there were almost invisible nuances, in his expressions. His feelings revealed themselves, not by the words, but by the slightest little wrinkle, the most unnoticeable movements of the muscles, and by the way he would slightly tilt his head. Unspoken words came radiated from the blue eyes, which never seemed to have quite the same color. Dean woke from the stream of thought, and saw that Castiel had been holding the same posture, contemplating him in the exact like manner.

"What are we doing here, Cass?" He tried to sound as normal as possible, but didn't try another remark. It didn't seem to be working for him anymore, not around the angel. Castiel seemed to tense a little, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were not filled with the confidence Dean had been hoping for.

"I believe we are safe, for now."

Dean didn't believe a word of it, but let it go.

"You need to enter this building, this church."

"What?" He felt suddenly much more nervous than before. "What could there possibly be in a church that I would need? I brought my own holy water, and Jesus on a Stick won't really work against the demons!"

"The church was a hiding place, before they abandoned it. The small black bible, with the initials J.B, is what we need."

Dean raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"There's a free bible in every motel-room, in this state, and in every other state of America, and you wanna snatch one in a church? You want me to climb in there, and steal some preachers' bible? That's rich."

Castiel cocked his head again, and gave him just another impatient look.

"The building is angel-proofed. I cannot just go in there, and… snatch it, myself. I would have. An … ally, left important information in it."

"Awesome. You wait, Ill be back with your black little book."

… … …

In the dim church light, Dean could hardly see anything. He had to work his way to the light-panel, while trying to avoid breaking anything in the process. It wasn't a very small church, but the preachers offices proved easily found.

The book lay closed on the bed, black leather shining in the dim light above it. Dean picked it up, and sat down, hiding his face in his other hand.

His inner self was in an uproar. He felt a longing for the time, when their world had been just black and white. Back when it was all about nailing women, getting drunk, saving lives and killing evil. Not necessarily in that order. Lately, it was only about staying alive, staying sane, and they had failed on both. He didn't need this, not right now. At least that was what he was trying to tell himself. He would have to go back outside. There was no point in trying to delay it. Sometimes, you just have to face whatever is haunting you. Walk straight at it, instead of trying to run away. Meet it with everything you've got.

Dean got up from his feet, clasping the bible in his hand. He had faced hell, and broken into so many pieces. Half of which had been lost in the struggle of life after. If he could walk away from that, he could run away from this. Or right at it, if he had to.

…

When he came back outside, it was snowing.

The feeling of cold sensation dancing down, melting on his skin, while the surroundings were increasingly hidden in winter fog, created an illusion that the rest of the world had been frozen in time. A hand reached for his right wrist, and Dean felt himself going as still as the silent graves around them. The book was taken from him, and he dimly noticed how it fell to the ground - submerged in white powder snow. The presence of the one holding him felt so comforting, so safe, that he wanted nothing more than to turn around and face him. Unable to control his own body, what remained was the warmth that was spreading inside him. It melted away the fear, numbed down his confusion, blending with sparks of electricity from his hand. He didn't have to turn around. Castiel was suddenly standing close in front of him. Lines of both uncertainty and wonderment had spread in his face, making him look more human than he had ever seen him. There was a depth of emotion in the warm blue eyes, emotions Dean at that moment understood. He should have been scared. Instead he met the intense gaze, and allowed himself to drown in it.

They were so close to each other that the smell of vanilla blended with a scent of his own. It didn't matter if none of it made sense, or if the whole world scared the life out of him. When their lips met, Dean felt alive. No memories and no nightmares. Just the physical touch, and the soft lips. Dean placed his hands awkwardly upon the warm shoulders, and let him move even closer. Castiel embraced him so firmly; he could barely breathe. It felt so good, having someone that close, pressed against his chest. They kissed deeply, tasting emotions they might never taste again. When Castiel pulled his face slightly away from him, Dean felt an eager heat all the way down to between his legs. The thought almost scared him enough to push Castiel away; and he would have, if the angel had not chosen that moment to make the world disappear, and reappear.

They were suddenly standing in Dead Moe's cabin. The night was spreading outside, and the world still seemed frozen. Just the two of them, still holding each other. Dean was torn between the intense feelings inside him. It felt like if he was no longer just one person, but two, both wanting and fearing the opposite of the other. He was afraid to give in, and terrified of letting go.

"You were getting cold." Castiel's voice had a new sound of it. Still sounding dark and rusty, there was a slight crack in it, like a broken record.

"What's up with this place?" Dean spoke the words in a tone rather higher than natural for him. "It's dusty. You know, dust is dangerous. It's a real health hazard." He swallowed, feeling his hands going clammy.

Castiel gave him what looked like a faint smile.

"I do not need to be concerned about health."

Dean would have answered, but Castiel took back the step that had gotten in between them, and kissed him again. His fingers examined Dean's neck and down his chest.

"Whoa…" Dean gulped for air. "Perhaps we should slow down a little?"

Castiel tilted his head, and met Dean's nervous stare with a soft curiosity.

"Is that what you want?" There was no coyness, or teasing in his voice.

Dean swallowed, and looked down towards the wooded floor.

"I am an angel, Dean. This is hard for me to understand, and even harder for me to admit. But if you ask me to leave, I will."

He stiffened, as if to move away from him.

Suddenly, Dean found himself holding only one of the shoulders, and the other one slipping from his fingers.

"Cass, wait." He didn't know what to say, or even how to ask.

"Just, stay. Okay?"


	7. Ascending with aerophobia

_**Ascending with aerophobia**_

...

"Just touch me, okay?" The words made him feel like he was begging and he hated it. Dean had never been in this position before. He had always known what he wanted, and how to get it. In any sexual situation, he was used to having the upper hand. When it came to sex, what had ever made him feel uncomfortable? It wasn't as much the physical touch, although it was something entirely different touching a man. More the emotional hold Castiel had on him.

"Like this?" Castiel let his fingers trail down the smooth skin on Dean's stomach.

The oddly clumsy effort made Dean feel more in control of the situation. The whole situation felt weird. He wanted it, but he didn't know how to let go. How to just get on with the fucking, without having to analyze every single thing they both did.

He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. Then he thought to himself; _to hell with it_!

Castiel's eyes widened in surprise as Dean leaned in on him, cradling his face with the strong hands, and kissing him deeply. He could feel the vaguely sweet taste of a tongue fondling his own. It was almost too much for him; hard pushy lips, the breathing into his mouth, and the wet warm sensation of his tongue, combined with the whimpering sounds from the back of Dean's throat. With every bite, and every sucking motion, Dean almost moaned with pleasure. They were touching each other like if there was no tomorrow.

Dean vaguely noticed how he was trying to unbutton the shirt Castiel was wearing, and how it failed to come off. He bit him on the lip, and was rewarded with the salty taste of blood. The angel's grip on his throat tightened, as the pain made his body go tense and shivering. He couldn't handle it any longer, and tore the shirt apart, revealing the naked chest of the man in front of him. The skin there was even softer than his lips. He felt like he was burning, and every movement increased the aching between his legs. In few seconds, his shirt was on the floor as well. They moved to the bed, and Dean pressed the angel down on it, so that he lay with his back on the soft bedspread.

The insecurity began flooding back into Dean, as their pants came off.

This wasn't what he was used to. Give him a female body, any female body, and it would be a done deal.

He was in bed with a man. A handsome man and a man that made his insides boil, but still a man. Dean just didn't know what to do. Castiel was pressed down underneath him, looking into his eyes, and breathing sporadically. Dean swallowed, looking frightened and wide-eyed as he met his stare.

Castiel frowned. Almost incapable of movement, all he could do was to lean in closely, and kiss him. It was such a soft kiss, their lips barely moving. As the kiss deepened, he suddenly noticed the salty taste in the corner of Dean's mouth. He broke away from the kiss, and stared into his face. Filled with tears, and sore around the edges, the hazel in Dean's eyes had turned almost emerald. He looked so confused and upset, that the angel was suddenly filled with an almost overwhelming feeling of sadness.

"I'm sorry…" Dean almost whispered. Castiel felt like if he was choking on something. He closed his eyes, and let his head rest on the pillow under his head. He had no idea what to do, or what to say. The burning didn't remain in the background. There was an intense yearning in him, a deep desire to be released.

Dean placed a wet kiss on his chest. There was no harm in a kiss. He let his lips wander, and found himself kissing further down on the naked body underneath him. It struck him how good in actually was. How soothing it was to feel another heart beating against his fingers. The fear began to slowly fade away from him again.

When Castiel's fingertips touched the back of his head, near the end of his hairline, he shuddered, and the warmth returned to his body. He carefully found his way to what the angel desperately needed touched, and the moaning from Castiel told him that he was doing it the right way. For each passionate sound that escaped the angel, for each groan, his own burning increased, and every thought disappeared from his mind. As it came near fulfillment, Castiel almost buckled, incapable of breathing, almost begging Dean to stop.

And it felt so good that his toes almost broke against the bottom edges of the bed. He gasped for breath, as Dean came back up and kissed him.

They held each other, until Castiel regained the ability to speak.

"I didn't know anything could feel like this. That a being could feel such… such wonder…" His chest rose and fell, heavily.

"You're welcome, don't mention it. …" Dean mumbled, and kissed him on the neck. He almost laughed at his own nerve. The pun sounded shaky, taken in consideration that he had almost had a nervous breakdown minutes before.

He was about to say something else, when Castiel gave him a slight push, and rolled himself steadily on top of him. There was a glint of joy in his blue eyes, and the dark hair lay shamefully untidy.

"Whoa… You don't have to…"

The last part of the sentence was drowned by the angel's mouth. This time Dean groaned, as Castiel bit into the flesh-filled part of his upper lip.

It was like if someone had poured gasoline on him, and lit a match. Every fiber in his body burned by the way he was touched. Castiel's hands moved roughly down his chest, almost scratching the skin on his stomach. Then his head disappeared, and Dean felt his tongue against the inside of his thigh. He groaned his name. "Cass…"

He felt a pounding sensation as Castiel kissed him, and tasted him, it was almost unbearable. The pleasure was so intense, that he dared not move in case it would slip away from him. Castiel tensed, suddenly doing it much rougher, almost daring him to cry out. Dean couldn't breathe, but seized a handful of the soft sheet with both his hands, clinging to it as if he was afraid to be torn apart from the inside.

When the orgasm came, it was in an almost painful burst of pleasure, causing him to cry out loudly. His whole body felt on fire as the spasms rode him for what felt like several minutes.

When his body had calmed down, he just lay there, with eyes closed and breathing heavily, as Castiel came almost crawling back up to him. He swallowed, trying to wipe some of the sweat of his forehead with the back of his hand. When he turned towards Castiel, he found him lying on his side, with a slight smirk on his face. It seemed so out of character, that Dean almost forgot about being embarrassed. He hadn't even really seen him smile. It was like it was too human an expression. Dean didn't know what he preferred, but he knew that at the moment, he didn't care.

Castiel cocked his head, and gave Dean a slight humorous frown.

"It pleasures me to see that you are not weeping anymore."

Somehow, Dean got the distinct feeling that the angel was trying to "yank his chain". He felt the heat creep back up to his face, and opened his mouth to say something.

The angel took a short, but pronounced breath, and lay down on his back, the big blue eyes staring pointedly at the dark ceiling. Dean had to fight of a sudden urge to lean in and kiss him again, but decided that he was too exhausted to begin something he would not live to finish.

Instead, he only moved closer and placed an arm on his bare chest, resting his head on Castiel`s shoulder.

"Angel or not, you better be careful, or I'm gonna have to kick your ass."

Castiel turned slightly towards him, squinting and pressing his lips together.

"Actually, I believe I would enjoy that."

***


End file.
